


Cloud Nine

by thegayestfairy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Colours, F/M, Inspired by Florence + the Machine, Lights, Motel, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Thunder and Lightning, everything i write is partly inspired by florence + the machine, honestly, probably pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegayestfairy/pseuds/thegayestfairy
Summary: Meetings in a motel in the midst of a thunder storm are bound to be interesting.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to posting on this site, and quite new to sharing my writing so publicly, so constructive criticism is welcome.

The motel was tucked away, with whitewashed walls and dead plants. Seedy and cast in pink light from the sign: Cloud Nine. He stared up at it, burning the image into his retinas. Thinking about irony, ironic. "It's the good advice that you just didn't take."

He blinked, took a deep breath, smelling the decaying plants and grit. He had parked his car a block away. It was a precaution, he wasn't sure what against. He was not the reckless type. Not at all, He stayed safe, had a safe job, safe home, safe wife. But this was dangerous, he could feel it beneath his skin. All this energy. 

Darkness had gathered around the city, painting the sky a deep, angry purple. The air was humid, pressing in at his temples. His shirt stuck to his skin. There would be a storm tonight. He whispered to himself, praying that the sun will rise. 

She hadn't told him what room number, just told him that he would know when he got there. He had believed it then. It was bullshit. What did he expect? Some mystic pull? A sign from above?

Room 9. The lights were on. He could hear laughter through the door. Smelt cigarette smoke, enticing, and lying. No.

Above, up the stairs. He took each step carefully, listening to the noise his feet made on the metal. A choir, singing of his sins, telling him to turn back, make the right choice. He faltered; the air was heavier on the second floor, he could feel a headache forming. God damned weather, he didn't need the damp, cloying heat, not now. He traipsed onward, unsure of what to look for, what he was going to find.

It turned out to be nothing, irony again, he supposed, because all he had was a feeling. There was no light from the window, no sound or smell. He just knew. 

The door was unlocked, it swung open with the faintest creak. Just another strain on its existence. The room was dark and purple, a product of pink light filtering through blue curtains. The TV was on and muted. Shadows flickered across the walls, the painting of a ship about to set sail, the empty bed. The sound of running water from behind the closed bathroom door. He felt caught. Stuck between his present, the pink paradox, and somewhere outside of time. He stepped in and closed the door, shutting out the humid air, feeling the headache build until it was blinding. Then it faded, gone, leaving just traces of tension. 

It started to rain.


	2. Part II

Part II  
He wasn't sure what to do, stand? Sit? On the bed or on one of the armchairs by the window? They were worn, sagging, stains blending into the outdated floral design. A Bible had been placed on the bed, a chain and cross marking a page. "But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Saviour from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body," (Philippians 3:20-21) had been underlined. The bathroom door opened, and she stood silhouetted in the bathroom light. A divine vision made of smoke and mirrors. He stood, caught red-handed, he slowly put the bible back where it had been left. She smirked at him.

"You came." He nodded, speaking didn't seem right. His voice would ruin the moment, whatever this moment was. "Of course, you did." A flash of lighting. 

She moved closer to him, swaying and smooth. Heaven shook. He took her in, all that glory. Red lips, dark hair and dark eyes. A fading afterimage of violence. Ethereal and raw. The wings did not seem out of place.

He had met her at a bar, it had been a work outing. Everything had been red and made out of wood. He sat with a glass of lemonade, making polite conversation, sitting on the outside of the circle. They didn't think he had much to offer, just another person in their lives. She had approached him directly. No nervous glances or awkward small talk. She had sat next to him and told him she was a mystic, she knew things she shouldn't. He believed her then. She bought two shots, gave one to him and watched him drink it. Then gave him the other, "Shoot twixt wind and water," she said with a wink and then she was gone, a slip of paper with Cloud Nine Motel in her place.

"You have a wife." Yes.  
"You have a child." Yes. "A girl." Yes. "Forget them."  
A homewrecker. What was he doing? "How?" escaped before he could stop it.  
"I'm all you need." He believed her now.

She weaved her way into his life. Becoming present in every memory, every feeling. Always just out of focus, a gentle brush of fingers, a sound carried away by the wind. 

She knew him. She pushed him to his knees, he breathed out her name, a name he didn't know, a name his tongue could not form. He wasn't sure what he had expected but it wasn't this, she lead him in selfish prayers. Begging for repentance. She had him sweating out confessions as every touch took him further away from what he knew. A sigh, a gasp, grasping for more. Something out of reach.

A glimmer of cold reality. He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of her. Illuminated by lighting. Wings spread, golden and dark. Saw glinting teeth and dark eyes. Felt a dagger at his throat. Her breath was hot against his neck, "It's your turn now."

He should fight. But she had carved into his hollow chest and spread through the emptiness. He was lost in bliss, her lamb to slaughter. 

A scream for salvation, gaping from his throat. Feeling the breath leave as thunder cracked around him. He didn't feel the knife, he felt everything else. A cry for forgiveness. Saw his bloodshed and that of everyone else, it left him pale and empty. A husk.   
When he woke the next day, he would be soft to touch and light enough to be carried by wings of tarnished gold. Baring a weight that could not be defined, could never truly be lifted.

And she would be gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed.  
> I'm on tumblr  
> https://flowithpoe.tumblr.com/


End file.
